


Outdoor Experiment

by GoldenHavoc



Series: The Tower and the Ivy [1]
Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angry Sebastian, Charity Event, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, I understand this, M/M, Protective Sebastian, Ruben hates people, Ruvik being his murderous self with murderous thoughts, Ruvik is Ruvik, Some Humor, Teenage Dorks, Teenage Sebastian, a lil sweet, and so is Ruben, fuck rich people, no STEM, no really fuck them, teenage Ruben, wink wonk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 19:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenHavoc/pseuds/GoldenHavoc
Summary: Ruben is by no means someone who likes to mingle with people. He sees no problem in locking himself inside the manor 24/7 while conducting his experiments, thank you very much. Which is why it proves all the more annoying when Jimenez forces him to attend the annual charity ball at Beacon in place of his recently 'deceased' father. Ruben is more than reluctant to comply and calls the whole ordeal a waste of time - until a young security guard catches his eye, seeming to be the only one who hates being there just as much as he does.Maybe there is something to being outdoors after all.





	1. Indoors

**Author's Note:**

> An old work I've completed months ago and finally finished translating since it kept bugging me. Writing style might waver from the one found in my more recent stories.

The deception of the place wrapped around his throat like a tourniquet and diminished his ability to breathe.

Not that the amalgam of perfume and disinfectant was easy to breathe in anyway, but it was more about the principle than anything. The principle of a society that enjoyed drowning in its own hubris.

Ruben stood at the window, the curtain to one side, the night’s darkness to the other. Tied up with a golden cord, the velvet folds didn’t reach far enough to cover him completely for he heard the whispering of the doctors and saw their heads hunched together in small, wretched groups, noticeably bending in his direction. They resembled the ears of a cornfield stretching out for the sun. Some dandies surely would have smiled at the thought. 

Ruben stared at blue lawns and grey stone benches and had as much desire to smile as the subject whom he had cut his lips off yesterday when he just couldn’t stop insulting him.

For an hour now, he held a champagne glass in his hand, its contents tingling senselessly against their transparent prison. He had not tasted a single drop. He preferred red wine, Jimenez knew that. He had intentionally brought him champagne, tapped him awkwardly on his shoulder and left him standing on his own. He probably feared Ruben could indulge in drunken embarrassment, but to even consider this was more banal than thecalculations he had showed him last Saturday. Ruben’s self-control exceeded that of the occasional drunkard by far, nor would he have ever talked about his experiments in bloody detail, not even under drugs (he had already taken precautions for such occasion). Besides, few under Jimenez's regime were aware about the fate of the patients that disappeared, and they didn’t dare cross his path.

They knew Ruben showed little to no scruples in his work so it deemed natural for their kind to scatter out of his reach like animals smelling old blood, fearing theirs could serve as the fresher replacement.

Ruben didn't mind being feared. It was the whispers that got on his nerves. Not to mention the horrid decor of the ball room he was stuck in.

The blending light of the chandelier pierced his eyes accustomed to dim light bulbs, the glow of the artificial candles rubbed its unpleasant, tingling weight on his bandaged skin. He despised every stimulus in this so familiar yet strange place. He should have been in his laboratory, continuing his research accompanied by the silence and the pale warm glow of the ceiling lamp in his dissection room. Everything else was a hardship to bear and a waste of his precious time. 

Jimenez had been in his ears for so long about this event he soon had to choose between either squeezing into an old suit of his father and witness this horror of a social gathering _or_ to remove his vocal cords and be done with it. Since a mute doctor proved difficult to understand and the deliveries of possible subjects would have been delayed by at least double (not to mention Jimenez – tongueless or not – would have been _immensely_ out of sorts with him), he had preferred the second variant and regretted it ever since.

The third-class music the rented orchestra provided burst from the singsang of a sad viola into a lively quartet, parting the groups to rave on the empty dance floor in the middle of the room. Ruben snorted. There they went, drones without queens in search for honey. Eager to mate if one wanted to interpret the desperate way they put their arms around their female colleagues, pushing them into the direction they deemed fit rather than guiding them. They practiced small talk along the way to make themselves more attractive and interesting than they were. Which was a hopeless undertaking had Ruben been asked about (he was disfigured, not blind).

Nobody did ask him. Nobody cared, but the stares were too evident to be ignored for long. He was a dissatisfied spirit at a celebration he did not like, in a building he would not have recommended as a dance floor to anyone with a working mind, in a world he wanted to discover as less as the rich would’ve sought visiting the poor without a camera filming their good, selfless deeds.

He did not belong in here. And he didn’t intend to.

Buried in his dark thoughts, he turned his gaze away from the hall’s midst and towards its edge. His cold eyes caught a man standing near the exit door, overlooking the spectacle with an expression of subtle hostility. His arms lay crossed in front of his chest, his back bent, eyes rigid and alert. His clothes dipped in light blue. The gun on his belt suggested he was part of tonight’s security although Ruben thought him almost too young for the job. 

However, he knew a man’s appearance could be highly misleading about which acts he was capable of. Even Ruben’s father hadn't so much as dreamt about the burnt, rawboned boy raising himself in the basement to cause actual harm when he stormed him at age 18 in the middle of the night and stabbed him to bits in his rage.

The memory placed the tiniest smile on Ruben’s bitter mouth. An angry man’s willpower could indeed do great things.

Led by an impulse, he clutched his glass tighter and made his path towards the only one seemingly matching his unwillingness of being in this place. There were few obstacles on his way and he was tired of withering in the shade. The people standing too close distanced themselves hurriedly, as if Ruben’s aura seeped menace by default. The thought had him chuckle to himself. If only.

"You're not a friend of these occasions, I assume?“ he asked soon as he approached the security guard within earshot. A head turned to him, followed by the odor of cheap aftershave, young sweat and lukewarm cigarette smoke.

His newly chosen interlocutor was a handsome fellow, Ruben noted. Under the ridiculous cap he wore, his hair fell in dark curls. A few chin-length strands framed a freshly shaven face carved of edges and mildly suppressed suspicion.

"What gave me away?“ he asked, his baritone a bit on the rough side, but not quite as dismissive as Ruben had calculated it to be.

“Well, you look across the room as if you’d like to strangle everyone in here.“ He expected to be contradicted as every coward dragged out of cover and deprived of social prestige would have. The burst of laughter hit him with surprise.

"I'm not a friend of the stuck-upprigs that pat each other’s back because they threw a penny more into the welfare fund if that’s what you mean,“ said the man, tilting his head in amusement. Ruben did the same, moving carefully in tune. He had read a touch of synchronicity helped to sow sympathy among people. For him, tilting was a bait that appealed to both sides. The hustle and bustle around them split into a hollow aperture of rhythm and intoxication. 

"That's not very nice to say,“ he replied, his voice far from reproach. His opponent shrugged his shoulders. The movement stretched the first three buttons of the cheap shirt into which they had stuffed him. It was one size too small at least, the shoulders too wide for the fabric to adjust. This might also lead to problems in the future since the man wasn’t yet a man in the real sense of the word and thus far from full-grown. Had the guard found himself in Ruben’s basement, his arms had reached beyond the width of his operating table. Even with chains securing him at the upper and lower end, it would have proven difficult to hold him without a strong sedative. Yet the stronger a sedative’s effect proved to be, the more disappointing were the reactions Ruben tried to pull from the subjects during his work. Which reminded him to take appropriate precautions to resolve such problem.As soon as he used committed murderers and rapists with considerably greater muscle strength and rage for his experiments, the danger of an incident seemed bound to occur. And to die being crushed by a two-legged animal was beneath his dignity.

"I don't get paid for being nice.“ Ruben forced himself out of the atrium between his temples and back into the utopia of reality. He heard the man snort, saw him blink. Short eyelashes stuck together by a previous nap mere hours ago. “If that were the case, I’d soon be unemployed.“ The addition was complacent, but honest. Ruben admitted he liked it better than the residual decadence he had encountered so far. He felt a spark of interest glowing, like a desert bud licking up a drop of water. Knowing that teeth and claws would spring from it, he opened his mouth.

“Your name?“ 

Sudden mistrust mixed in the gaze directed at him, amusing Ruben in turn. He used the moment to study the man's eyes up close. They were brown, a lighter shade than his hair. Golden; no, amber. The color of sticky resin, warm, thick... ah. Ruben lowered his lashes. Tree blood. Blood, no matter what kind, held something familiar in its texture. 

"Why? You trying to denounce me?" Ruben smiled thinly.

"Nothing of that sort, I assure you." He did an impatient gesture. “Your name. Please."

The man hesitated. Ruben had time. The last bubbles of his champagne crawled to the surface and burst without sound. 

"Castellanos.“ Two seconds of silence. Then. “Sebastian." 

Ruben watched as the impulse to raise his hand in greeting moved through Sebastian’s right shoulder. He himself did nothing of the sort. The impulse was wasting away, and Sebastian’s arm slumped down, unused. He memorized the action. 

"Ruben," he replied in return.

"Ruben what?" Ruben did a head movement that covered the whole hall.

"Think of who signed the cheque for this grotesque event." 

Sebastian actually _did_ think about it for a moment. Then, he stepped back as if he had burned himself. The features under his cap derailed. 

"Shit!" The curse turned a few heads. Sebastian gave them a fierce sideglance, and they ducked back like chicken. Then, a little quieter, bending back into Rubens' direction: "You’re Victoriano? _The_ Victoriano? I thought he was one of the old bastards." 

The corners of Ruben's mouth sunk south. So they too fed the security service with the horror stories that made rounds in the institution. Too bad. He’d hoped for a blank slate to work with. Now it was full of ink stains he had to erase in order to place his writing on it. Frustrated, he drank the first sip of his champagne. The taste drilled into his teeth like a nail.

“He used to be," he said coldly. "My father. Since he’s no longer with us, I was asked to take over his duties. Unfortunately, this includes the hosting of his donations as well as attending events like this one.“ His gaze hardened as he observed Sebastian this time. "Calm down. No matter what you’ve heard, a Victoriano rarely bites in public." 

The bitterness in his voice couldn’t be completely eradicated, nor could’ve anyone said whether he intended to do so or not. 

Despite his isolation, Ruben congratulated himself on having gained a certain predictability in human behavior at some point since Sebastian practically jumped at his pitch. A guilty expression manifested in his eyes. Ruben decided he liked that look on him. 

"Sorry, it was just the shock. I often react without thinking. Bad habit." He licked his lips. Ruben followed the pink tip of his tongue till it disappeared behind spotless flesh and straight teeth. "My condolences."

“Unneeded.“ Ruben threw a gloomy look into his glass. "He had it coming.“

Sebastian rubbed his neck. Ruben sensed the shame peeling off him like an onion skin. He was fascinated yet repelled by it. Although the dialogue had begun with fragmentary intention, he certainly didn’t want this development to happen. His bandage itched. He cleared his throat.

"How long have you been working here? I don't remember seeing you at the last ball.“ Of course, he didn’t mention he hadn’t been present at the last ball either. Sebastian loosened his hand and rolled his shoulders.

"Um, no, this is my first. A friend of mine got me the position, a part-time job. I want to join the police, and the academy costs a bunch of money.“ The trace of pride swelling in his voice while he mentioned the academy didn’t escape Ruben’s attention. The faint smile curled back onto his burnt lower lip.

“Oh? Why? And please don't tell me to arrest bad people, _Seb_." Sebastian cocked a brow.

"What's wrong with striving for more justice? Krimson is a maelstrom for crime." Ruben averted his gaze.

“Justice is individual and easy to corrupt once placed into human hands. Too often, cops are bribed by the criminal organisations they should try to expose; the KCPD is no exception. However, I’m not entirely averse to the principle of vigilante justice." He watched the dancing couples turn more or less contrary to the music’s rhythm. If he were in their place, he’d have taken the right step to each note. 

Another useless talent his parents had bestowed him with due to his aristocratically blasé education. Another pain for which he was denied the valve. After all, what good was an ability that could only be exercised with a partner with whom it was worthwhile? You were bound to a stranger; dancing alone was out of the question. It would’ve been too pathetic, too lonely. The absence of what had never been there took all the grace out of the picture and converted it to a mourning scene.

"Well. The law isn’t fond of vigilantes. We can’t all be Batman,“ Sebastian said. He sounded more defensive than before. The doubt Ruben had sown already germinated in his mind; a pleasant discovery.

"Isn't it your aspiration to _be_ the law?" Ruben asked more gently.Sebastian crossed his arms, another strain on the fabric. How long would it take for the suture to pop? He wondered if Sebastian wore a shirt under his uniform. It was an admittedly mild evening for this time of year.

"No, that turns out badly for most people. I just want to preserve it.“ Ruben sighed.

“I see. You've set your goals alarmingly low. I doubt false modesty will allow you to get what you strive for.“ Sebastian stared at him. 

"And what do I strive for?" he asked drily.

Third and fourth degree burns had made a considerable part of Ruben's body unresponsive to any movement, but this didn’t stop him from feeling an experience similar to goosebumps in mind as he watched the mistrust creep back into Sebastian's posture.

"It's not hard to guess," he said lightly. “What you truly crave is, simply put, –“

"Mr. Victoriano?“

Ruben's body froze with the sound of the nasal voice. A reluctant train pulling on his mouth, he turned around.

Mister. It should have been _Doctor_. His temporal lobe alone was more capable than a pack of Beacon scholars.None of their degrees could have provided half the performance of what pulsed under his skullcap **.**

Dr. Stephen Gray, Oxford graduate, hosted a much more average brain. His shoulder-length hair was combed back with a lavish portion of gel, emphasizing a high forehead. The pale eyes underneath ensured a fleeting scan of both men as he walked up them. 

"Dr. Jimenez wants to speak to you," he said to Ruben. "He needs you to join a discussion." He glanced to Sebastian, reflecting his frown with a disparaging blink. “Let the staff work in peace. It’s what they’re paid for."

Sebastian snorted at the comment yet remained silent otherwise. He tapped his cap lower down his forehead. Ruben took discontented note of it.

“Since I pay for this event out of my own pocket, it should remain my decision with whom I have conversations this evening and with whom I don’t,“ he replied coolly. With his glass he pointed to where he suspected the largest gathering of Marcelo’s herd. "Tell Jimenez if he really needs to talk to me, he better comes on his own instead of sending one of his lackeys."

Gray put his hands on his hips. Heavy wrinkles formed over his brows.

"Well I'm sure he won’t like to hear that. He said it’s important." Again, his bleary gaze attached to Sebastian like paste. Something flashing in the center of his blunt pupils irked Ruben. He knew the expression from his father's eyes every time they sat at the dinner table and he proudly told of his latest insights into the functions of the human brain. Laura remained the only one to offer her attention with a smile; mother devoted herself to eating, a sporadic nod, no eye contact. And his father? His father stared as if he was brooding over the next punishment to be imposed on his son in the near future. He had regarded Ruben as a break in the mold throughout his whole life. A troublemaker that shouldn’t have found way into their world. The ripped piece in a puzzle that could never be completed.

Gray seemed to have similiar thoughts regarding Sebastian Castellanos. He stared at him like he was organic trash in need to be cleared.

The functioning rest of Ruben’s muscles bristled with anger. In addition, Sebastian on his right shifted, preparing to retreat. More for the sake of instinct than for logical reasons, Ruben’s bandaged fingertips wedged into navy blue cotton. Sebastian stopped abruptly, his eyes blinking like a deer caught in the spotlight. The expression didn't really fit his stature; maybe that's why Ruben almost found him charming again then. He was sure he could’ve brought it to the surface more often in his dissection room with so much as a prick.

“Stay," he said. It wasn't a request. His attention fell back on Gray who studied the scene with confusion. "What are you waiting for? You’re dismissed.“ The champagne sloshed dangerously close under the edge of the glass. 

Gray flinched, but didn't move. His hairless upper lip pinched.

"But–“

"Don't test my patience.“ In Ruben’s eyes lay the dazzling cold of the wafts of mist that would rise behind the Victoriano estate on an early January morning. Every vowel proclaimed disaster. 

Gray watched him in thought, probably calculating his next steps. Then, suddenly, calm flattened his features.

“Fine,“ he said. He folded his hands behind his back. Throwing Ruben another short, piercing glance, he turned to Sebastian. His tone changed to neutral friendliness, although there was no sign of it in his actions. "Before I deliver the sad news to my boss, I may as well warn you – the people to whom Mr. Victoriano pays special attention to are often not found in decent condition afterwards." His voice became as clear as a polished diamond. Further words he produced with a blatant pleasure, which made his smile look almost real. "Out of the picture, so to speak. You should be _very_ careful."

Sebastian blinked at him in confusion. Ruben's heart stopped for a beat, several perhaps. When the organ started up again, its pace had doubled.

"Shut up.“

"Why?" Gray pushed his glasses higher up the sweating bridge of his nose. His focus remained on Sebastian whose forehead wrinkled under the other’s gaze. "Your choice is a little... unorthodox, but we trust your judgment, of course. You don’t happen to have a rare blood type, do you? Our inventory is tight at the moment."

"What choice?" Sebastian asked. He looked to Ruben, feverishly searching for an answer among the bandages. The warmth in his cognac iris had given way to hardness. Ruben didn't think it would hit him that much, but it did. Whatever this encounter could have resulted in, it was ruined. "Why does he want to know my blood type? Am I in the wrong movie, or what's this about?"

"There is no choice." Putting himself resolutely between the two, Ruben glowered at Gray. He cursed him. He struggled with himself. He should have expected Jimenez's sycophant refer to provocation and blackmail to get his ways. After all, Jimenez _was_ their teacher.

Ruben hated losing. Even more so he abhorred the humiliation _of doing the bidding_ of someone merely a few years older than him. But he didn’t know what else Gray would come up with to impose his will. At the same time, he could hardly put in words how much he loathed to leave the only person he’d been marginally interested in tonight.

The champagne was a tired memory, faded and old in the mechanical grip of his hand. The walls and clothes lost their colors. 

Gray waited. Ruben swallowed. It was as if he breathed in fire again, his veins boiling.

"Go back to Jimenez and tell him I'll be right there." Gray folded his lanky arms in front of his lanky chest, bathing in his triumph. Ruben wanted him on his dissecting table, crying and begging for mercy he wouldn’t be given.

"He said he needs you now," Gray said urgently. The fact he had won the fight didn’t change his tone. "Patient 44."

Ruben clenched his jaw. The Siamese twins. Just last week he had identified a different personality disorder in each and started to prepare them for the machine. Recording such a case in a separate stage was something he’d wanted for a while, but he didn't think there had been a great change in such a short period of time; they just wanted to grill himabout it. Jimenez wanted to discuss his theories under Ruben’s guidance so it seemed as if he had a clue. A crease, sharp and uneven, dug between the remains of his brows.Unseen, of course; except for his mouth and parts of his chin and cheeks, the bandage forbade any further view on what it wrapped. Another, even more unpleasant thought occurred to him.

“Did something happen?" he asked, trying not to shout. If someone had bungled with the twins, this would’ve caused a major setback in his research. Gray kept quiet. Impatience rubbed the mockery out of the corners of his mouth.

"I can't say that here.“ Again, a meaningful look that struck Sebastian like an arrow. In fact, a small part of Ruben was surprised he hadn't long since disappeared from the scene; then he realized his fingers were still cramping up his sleeve. They had begun to tremble without him noticing, the bandages an untoward contrast to the strengthened fabric. Ruben pulled his arm back as if he had been burnt. Sebastian straightened his uniform jacket and smoothed out the folds without comment. He looked at Ruben expectantly. Ruben was for once clueless _what_ he was expecting. He guessed it to be an apology.

"I'm sorry," He forced a smile on his lips that couldn't have been more artificial. “They need my... knowledge."

"I heard that." Sebastian gave Gray a sidelook. "Still didn't think you were working in that huge brick box yourself. You don’t look like that geeky.“ He had his gaze fixed on the flawlessly ironed shirt Ruben wore and the expensive Paul Smiths at his feet. This time, Ruben's smile was less forced.

“I’ll take that as a compliment." 

The dance had stopped, and the musicians took their last break for the evening. The couples reassembled in small groups, some of them already falling back into their nerve-wracking whispers. The idea of having to face this stilted scene again evoke Ruben’s need for an old French guillotine. In the years of revolution, an execution had received the same applause as someone winningthe Nobel Prize decades later; he liked to remember that human morality used to move with time just like Italian fashion did. 

"Maybe I can come back later." He mumbled it. There was an invisible wedge in his throat. He was sure he couldn't do that. And even if he did, Sebastian wouldn't be around to get involved in any further conversation. Gray had taken care of what he would definitely pay for; Ruben would lure Jimenez with double the money if he had to. 

Still, it was a pity. His subjects were far less talkative than the security guard. In fact, apart from the screams, they barely produced three interesting sentences to lift his mood.

He turned to go.

And was surprised when Sebastian followed him like a shadow that was too wide, pushing himself between him and Gray, hands on his hips and leaving the latter with an indignant gasp. His smile was sheepish, but his eyes didn’t match the idea.

“Before you leave – I liked the few minutes of our talk better than the rest of the evening.“ Hands in his pockets, Sebastian stepped closer to him, shielding them from Gray’s gaze in turn. "It was nice of you to address me. After all, I'm only personnel." 

His head craned to the men in white coats, an inscrutable expression on his face. He bent forward till his lips hovered over Ruben's good ear. "Don't let them drag you down. You can still bite them if needed. I won’t tell a soul.“

Ruben bared his teeth in reply, rather by instinct than choice. He understood that he was teased; he hadn’t been teased for what felt like eternity. Not since Laura died; back then, in his better life.

"I told you, not in public." Sebastian chuckled.

"You said 'rarely'." The sharply grated scent of old tobacco blew around each syllable. The fire had severely damaged Ruben's lungs, which was why smoking meant suicide to him, as so many things did these days. He inhaled the strange smell with greed, let it tingle down his throat. He imagined how the hot breath of the other might have felt before the barn fire.

Maybe, the experiment had not failed after all; maybe, there was hope.

"Just in case, where would—"

A pale hand with long fingers moved around Sebastian and grabbed him. The crescents of neat nails pierced the remaining flesh of Ruben’s forearm. Blunt pressure, parsed with an instinctive surge of aversion and disgust bounced on him in return. His hand itched to his pants pocket.

Then, quick as it came, the nails disappeared and the pressure gave way to a howl.

"I don't remember him allowing you to touch him“, Sebastian said sharply.Ruben glanced up, his fingers still clamped around a syringe hidden in his pocket.

Sebastian had Gray in a headlock, one arm above his throat, the other squeezing the hand Ruben had just been touched with. Gray's eyeballs were swelling, helplessness and the childish fear of never been manhandled before creating a watery film under his lids. He breathed in flat, loud puffs. Some of the visitors had turned their heads and watched them curiously. If this made them tonight’s highlight, society was even more primitive than Ruben had previously thought possible. 

He himself only had eyes for Sebastian and his natural-looking portrayal of controlled violence.The chandelier hanging above dipped shadows on his cheeks and narrowed his mouth **,** all kindness vanished, eyes coal-black and without shine.He seemed a different person. Ruben touched his arm with spread fingertips, almost expecting it to bristle. One of the gauze stripes had unwound a bit, nothing major to worry about. He'd have to fix it in an adjoining toilet room before he went home. Unprotected friction under cotton meant poison for his burns, no matter how dead or intact the flesh underneath might have been. 

"We're - We're late," Gray croaked.

"Do I act like someone that gives a shit about that?“ Sebastian asked sharply. Gray twisted like an eel in his grip unable to break free. The first hint of true panic widened his pupils.

"Who do you think you are?! You're just a security guard. One word from me and you're out of here!" Sebastian clenched his jaw. Ruben noticed a scar nudged at the left corner of his upper lip. It was small, white and old, a souvenir from childhood most likely. He wondered from whom he had received it; and above all, why.

"Fine by me. But you’ll apologize first."

"I don't know what for."

"You know damn well." Sebastian put a little more pressure on his throat. Tears of sweat collected In Gray's gelled hair.

As much as Ruben enjoyed to see the academic wriggle, an expansion of the scene would call his comrades to aid. Comrades with money and lawyers who’d frame Sebastian for crimes that would vex him with more than a reprimand.Far as he knew, indictments didn’t leave a good impression when one wanted to send in the application for a police academy. He lifted his glass.

"It's all right, Sebastian. Stephen didn't mean to. Please, let him go before a mishap happens. We can’t have his blue blood spill on the parquet.“

Sebastian released the man from his grip. Gray’s hands flew to his throat, an exaggerated coughing fit shaking his lean body.

"Are you coming with me now?“ Gray's voice was hoarse. His lips had lost all color. "I'm afraid you're not safe with this Neanderthal."

Ruben looked at Sebastian. Sebastian looked back. The sly sparkle in his eyes had Ruben realize they understood each other without words at this point. The realization erupted in his deaf chest like a mushroom cloud. He put on a mask of grief and turned to Gray.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I've ever felt safer. Reconsidering your offer, I have to decline.“ 

"But–“

Sebastian put a hand on Gray's shoulder. The smaller man flinched.

"You heard what he said. Or do I have to repeat it for him?“ It sounded friendly. Gray shook him off and pointed his finger at Sebastian's chest. 

"I'll report you!" Sebastian smiled. He stepped forward. Gray backed away.

"Do that. And while you're at it, go and buy yourself some boundaries to act by. Your daddy didn’t seem to have covered that in your education yet.“

Gray took one last hateful look at both men, then left. Ruben sensed Sebastian's gaze rest on the back of his head. Irritatingly enough, he didn't mind.

"He'll be back, won't he?"

"Most likely." A broad hand reached into Ruben's field of vision and pointed to the champagne glass.

"May I?"

Ruben handed him the glass. Sebastian raised it to him, then emptied it in one gulp. Ruben watched his face melt to a grimace in seconds. “Urgh. That's awful.“

Ruben smiled. For the first time tonight, he was pleased with how the evening went. 


	2. Outdoors

"I'm sorry you got fired because of me.“

He wasn’t. Not really. In a way, he was proud.

Sebastian walked beside him and pulled on his cigarette in thought. Anthracite-grey billows of smoke rose into lonely midnight air. Ruben watched them waver and dissolve into the darkness of 2 AM.

Gray had made good on his threats. Less than half an hour after their confrontation, Sebastian had been fired on the spot. Ruben had followed him as he was dragged out of the room and Sebastian hadn’t protested against it. 

To be honest, he was dealing with other problems at that time, such as pushing the door open with his shoulder before his nose got smashed in by accident, but when they both stood outside, the night sky above their heads, he hadn’t questioned Ruben's presence with a word.

The Beacon mental hospitalowned a small park that situated in its lithic back, designed to have patients experience the healing workings of nature. (Under human supervision, of course.) They followed one of the crisscrossing gravel paths leading up to it, on the equally errant and eternal search for Sebastian's car which he said to have parked somewhere close by at sunset and now, in his words, couldn’t find if his fucking life depended on it. 

“Don't talk that crap. I just gave the guy a well-deserved warning. And that barely scratched the surface if ya ask me." With a twitch of his wrist he flicked withered embers off the grit’s glowing tip. Ruben watched them sail to the ground and set black dots between the rocks. “Are you alright by the way?“

Ruben looked at him questioningly. Sebastian pushed the cigarette back into the corner of his mouth and jerked his head to where Gray had grabbed him. In fact, there was a hint of moisture sticking to the fabric. There had been no opportunity of fixing the bandages, and pain had become a minor issue over the course of the evening. He'd take care of it at home.

“It’s fine. I wear the bandages less for pain relief than to protect myself from environmental influences." 

Sebastian grinned. It was addictive, that grin. It stretched over his mouth and into his eyes, open and spotless like frameless windows. Instead of the suspicion age gifted you with, they were still ruled by the recklessness of a man who had never experienced a true tragedy.

 _I don't know you_ , these eyes said. _But I'm not afraid. And why should I?_ Charming.

"There we go. That guy was such an environmental influence." Ruben’s considered it.

"You could say that." He took a few steps ahead, Sebastian in his back. A gust of wind blew into his face and reached under his fluttering shirt collar with frozen breaths. It reminded him that he had left his cloak in the dressing room. He wrapped his arms around his waist. "I don't like to be touched without warning.“ Sebastian's vibrant laugh followed him like the plague.

"Yeah, you like being in control. I noticed." Something akin to pride resonated in his voice. Ruben couldn‘t fathom what for.

They reached a grove near the edge of the hospital grounds, flanked by an old-fashioned iron fence on the left. Bony plane trees pressed themselves out of the ground side by side, naked branches sticking out of their crowns seeming to reach for them in longing. The only light offered was the moon above their heads, half-hidden by clouds. Ruben stopped as the crunching footsteps behind him fell silent. He looked over his shoulder. Sebastian stomped the remains of his cigarette into the ground with his heel. Then he leaned into the curved hump of a trunk, hands shoved in his trouser pockets. His head lifted to the sky, the subtle attempt of making out the stars the night hadn’t given out yet. In his faded jeans and thread-bare leather jacket he looked even younger than Ruben had suspected him to be under his uniform. Bolder too. Ruben licked his lips. The taste of defiled flesh and ashes camped on his tongue.

"How did you notice?“ he asked, acting casual. Sebastian grinned. 

"Your face." He pointed to his own stubbly chin. "You looked at him as if you wanted to smash his head in – I can't blame you, I felt the same way. Privileged assholes and their attitudes, am I right?“

"I see." Apparently, Sebastian had forgotten that Ruben was a ’privileged asshole’ as well. Good. "I'm not that easy to figure out usually.“

“I got that. It was mostly your eyes that betrayed you. Deadly. You'll have to be more careful about them in the future." 

"You want to give me advice on self-control? After you put someone in a headlock just because he grabbed me the wrong way?“

Sebastian was silent at that. Ruben wondered whether he had gone too far. And yet, he’d seen how quickly Sebastian used violence against people he couldn’t stand. They’d known each other for barely two hours now, but Ruben didn’t have the impression he’d choose the same approach towards him. However, no assumption was worth anything until it was tested.

"The bureaucrats at the KCPD won't like your attitude," he continued, stepping closer.

"So what? Never said I wanted to be a model cop."

"You said you wanted to preserve the law."

"Doesn't mean I won’t bend the rulebook now and then.“ Sebastian's voice sank into conspiratorial realms. “Crime plays with marked cards too. What's the point of being honest if you’ve got the chance to pay like with like? I don’t mind the method as much as long as I put a stop to their game.“

Ruben pondered on it. He walked up to Sebastian till they stood inches apart, slightly tilting his chin to look him in the eye, strict as a pastor. Sebastian returned the look, the corners of his mouth lifted in amusement. They made a strange pair.

"Now you’re guided by biblical principles."

“Oho! Am I?"

"To pay like with like is just a fancy variation for saying an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. Exodus 21.“ Sebastian’s brows furrowed.

"Wow. You must’ve read that part often.“

"The significance is refreshing in its finality. I hope it’ll dawn on Gray someday. I also thought you rejected the idea of being Batman?“ Sebastian shrugged.

“Well, Jim Gordon's not to be scoffed at either, and he‘s even less forgiving than Batman is.“

Ruben knew neither, but alas, he’d never believed in heroes to begin with, whether in costume or coat.

“I suppose. In the end, It’s your choice who you want to be remembered as,“ he said slowly. Sebastian scratched the back of his head, looking away.

“Yeah… what did the guy mean by that actually?“ He crossed his arms and leaned forward. "What about that _choice_ , huh? Speak up, rich boy, I'm all ears." Ruben halted. He was… close. They noses almost brushed.

"I don't know... I don't know many people." He lowered his eyes, fleeing to the logo of Krimson High on Sebastian’s chest, faded by numerous washes. Sebastian and college? Ruben didn‘t think the young man would shy away from education, but these were two concepts that somehow didn’t want to fit together. "Perhaps, he alluded to my hermitism. And that I‘ve got the power to get many of his colleagues fired in the blink of an eye, including you. Since the accident, I rarely go outside. It... may be that's what he meant too, of course. The accident. I’m considered ’bad luck’ in the institution.“ 

He paused. He couldn't remember to have ever truly talked to anyone about the barn. Jimenez knew the details, but that was a different story. He'd treated him. He was an initiate who consorted with his parents soon as the donation box had shown empty. 

Sebastian, on the other hand, was a stranger. He did not play a major role that would entitle him to know about Ruben's situation. He was not a doctor who could have taken Jimenez's position and become useful to Ruben in terms of acquiring his resources. He was basically nothing; a bored, rude nobody who had just emerged from Krimson College and almost certainly spent most of his childhood in a worn out terraced house. He already had difficulty by trying to put his absurd idea of law and order into words, the realization of which turned out utopian and would ultimately merely be the core to more shattered dreams and hopes. 

He wasn't part of Ruben's story. And Ruben didn't know if he wanted to make him part of it, and if he did, for how long he was able to fit in. And above all, how many days, weeks, _months_ it would take him to kill him and get rid of his corpse like he did with the others.

It had become quiet under the plane trees. Except for both their breath there was only the wind that rustled the leaves above their heads. Sebastian's golden-brown eyes were disarming in their candor. They held the sole bright contrast to the night.

"How old were you?" he asked. Ruben remained silent. His hands clenched into fists. Sebastian raised a hand.

"You don't have to say it if you don’t –“

“– Ten." Ruben took a deep breath. "I was ten." One more pause. He heard the relentless hammer of his blood in his good ear and swallowed to weaken the impact. "Laura was 17." Sebastian's eyebrows rose.

"Laura?" He said it quietly, almost a whisper, as if the syllables were either forbidden or sacred or both. Ruben deemed it a punishment – one of many – that her name sounded sadder and more genuine on his crude tongue than from his own dead lips.

His gaze slipped off his shirt and jeans and hit the ground. Hos focus stuck on individual blades of grass breaking out the gravel. They braced themselves against the cold gust, adamant to stay erect. They’d lose the fight, you could tell at first glance. Some things were just inevitable to happen.

"My sister. She succumbed to her injuries." The words lay like bricks in his mouth. "Since then everything is“ _A vale of tears._ "different."

 _Why did he tell that? Why did he_ **_tell_ ** _that?_

 _Because he asked._ Ruben thought. _Because no one else asks. Because everybody knows or doesn’t care. And you don't consort with everybody._

Sebastian’s expression was unreadable. Ruben endured it without objection and tried to keep his breathing steady at least. He actually concentrated so much on it that he flinched when Sebastian detached from the tree and walked back the path they had come from.

"Where are you going?"

“Asking the guy if he really hinted at that. If yes, I‘m gonna break his nose. He's already got a shitface so it won’t make much of a difference,“ Sebastian called over his shoulder. 

Ruben stood there petrified. Inside, he laughed because the situation was too unfamiliar for him not to do it. Outside, seldom panic gripped him and he stumbled after Sebastian as if their bodies were forced to be connected by a rope that stretched its wingspan. The remaining muscles in his legs protested against the sprint, announcing cramps that would keep him awake until dawn later, but he couldn’t take care of that at the moment. He caught up with Sebastian a few feet before the grove’s entrance, grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him back with a strength he hadn’t thought himself capable of.

Sebastian staggered with a grunt, paused and looked at him perplexed, reflecting the same incredulity Ruben felt with his little impulse. He gulped. The adrenaline died off as quickly as it had come. Although his breath whistled in his ears and his mended lungs burned,he spoke in haste.

"You'll be sued. To them, you're just a proletarian – many of the doctors there are children from influential homes.“

“And?“ Sebastian stared at the fingers hacking like bird claws into his sleeve. "Um...hands off? Please?" Ruben didn’t think of it.

"Not until you put that stupid undertaking of yours out of your mind."

"This is not a stupid –,“ Sebastian looked truly offended. Quickly as that, his expression returned to the image of righteous anger. “Look, call me an idealist, but I can't stand by when someone is being treated badly. Especially after the shit you've been through." Again, his gaze began to darken as if he’d only wait for permission to continue. 

He liked to get angry, Ruben realized. He simply sought a good reason to do so. It fostered childlike, self-indulgent traits, meaning it had been nourished from a young age. Ruben sank into it like you would into the waves at Florida's beach bays, beginning with such lenience till the tide sets in and draws you in deep.

Ruben couldn’t deny that he was taken with Sebastian's willingness to fist-fight a stranger for him without further ado. One of his more primitive desires might have been responsible for it, but the idea of Sebastian peppering Gray's white medical gown with small blooms of blood filled him with an incredibly warm, smug satisfaction.

He‘d have allowed Sebastian to operate without interference on his side hadn’t it meant losing him and the opportunities he posed in return.

"Sebastian." Ruben's nails came out of the flesh that trembled under the fabric. While searching for the right words, his fingertips gently stroked over the pressured areas in hope the gesture conveyed the illusion of an apology. He looked at Sebastian with clear, hard eyes. "Stop trying to beat yourself up for me. You don't even know me. Maybe I'm not the victim here.“

Sebastian tilted his head. "You didn't mind when I took him to task in the hall.“ 

"That was an exception. Gray and I‘ve been at sixes and sevens for months."

"And now you’re best buds, or what?"

"I..."

"Well, I don't call you anything." He put a comradely hand on Ruben's shoulder. “Relax; you‘re right. I don't know you well enough for that."

"Then why are you so angry?" Sebastian looked at him out of dark eyes. He took back his hand and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His gaze slipped aside. Maybe he didn’t know either.

"Let's just say I felt like it. Besides, it seemed you were trying to... protect me? From this selection or whatever. It’s only fair I return the favor." He scraped in the gravel with the tip of his shoe. “Or maybe it was the music, I don't know. Terrible, right? And the champagne, too. Disgusting."

"Neither of us have fit into this sphere," Ruben said. Something about Sebastian's behavior told him that he lied, at least partially. He was curious why, curious about everything this man tried to conceal. "For that alone, it would be pointless to go through that door now. To them, you're an aberration. You’d just walk into their trap." He could almost see the cogs of Sebastian's mind spinning behind the cortex.

... Well, not almost. Within the last few years he had cracked enough skulls digging out their shells to be sure they did.

"Probably," Sebastian said at last, and sighed. He gave a crooked smile. “It's sweet you care what happens to me by the way.“

"I don’t.“

“Then keep your distance.“

Ruben crossed his arms and mirrored Sebastian‘s posture perfectly. He didn't move an inch. Sebastian snorted. In the silence grappling around them, it sounded deafeningly loud.

“Well shit. Guess I can't get past you." Ruben took this without comment. Although he himself weighed a reasonable lot, his opponent was physically superior; he could easily wrestle him to the ground if he wanted to. Ruben was not afraid of the act though — two anaesthetic injections rested deep in his pocket, filled and ready at hand. The power of habit. He never left home without them.

"Do you always rush to work like this, Castellanos?"

"Only on my best days, Victoriano. I don't regret it, if that's what you mean."

"No." Ruben's eyes thoughtfully attached to Sebastian's relaxed features. "Neither do I. I regret rarely.“

Even though he had reason to this time. Gray's outrage wouldn't go without consequences and bring Jimenez into action. An unnecessary discussion would take place. In the end, Ruben would shut him down with enough money and also ask how much his subordinate was worth to him in bills. Sometimes, Ruben wished all his problems could be solved so easily, but unfortunately not every problem carried a price tag.

Sebastian seemed to be neither a problem nor for sale. Ruben didn't know which of the two missing qualities would cause him more trouble if he got involved with the prospective cop longer than necessary. And part of him showed considerable interest in doing just that. 

Sure, he could have pegged him as a primitive monkey and kept it that way. It would have been simple; he nurtured the necessary qualities, the components a memorable, resolute structure, held together by a brutal mind.But...Sebastian had defended him, though he hadn’t had the foggiest notion who he was and what he did. He wondered what else he would do once he did. Ruben had never before met someone who behaved so headlessly while boasting with the desire to give new impetus to the fast asleep justice in Krimson City. In addition, his choice to trust someone resulted more from intuition than logic. Ruben couldn't say the same about any of Jimenez’ lickspittles.

At first glance, Sebastian Castellanos deemed a character without special deviation against the code built in since childhood. Internally, however, he was full of contradictions of which he was either blissfully unaware or ignorant of. It would be interesting to split each into the fragments they’d been made of. Yet there still remained the risk carried by a potential volunteer who, unlike most patients in Beacon, still had a functioning social environment. Sooner or later, someone would notice if he was suddenly undetectable. His absence would raise inconvenient questions and initiate investigations, and the officers he looked up to knocking on Ruben‘s door since he’d have spent suspiciously much time with Sebastian just before his disappearance. Ruben could do without all that. It might have well been his downfall if he did.

...No. He was supposed to stop here. It wasn’t worth the trouble. He opened his mouth for a flimsy apology and a farewell.

"Shall I drive you home? My chauffeur is waiting at the clinic’s entrance."

_What the hell are you doing?_

Sebastian shook his head. "Don't bother, I'll find my car somehow. It ain‘t the newest model, but it drives.“ 

"Oh. Sure."

_Stop it._

"Your eyes."

"Hm?" Grinning, Sebastian gestured to Ruben's face.

"You're doing it again. You say ‘Oh. Sure.‘ but your eyes say‘Ah shit! I wish I could’ve fucked him in the back seat before I take him to the penthouse’.“ Had Ruben been able to, he’d have blushed to the roots.

"I'm sure they don't say that. And I own a manor, not a penthouse," he said stiffly. Sebastian just watched him with a twinkle in his eyes. It was obvious he had difficulty stifling another laugh. Idiot. 

What was worse was that Ruben had trouble deciding whether he should ram one of his injections into his hip and leave him unconscious, or make him the offer in truth – a visit to his home.

He rejected the thought as quickly as it came. This wasn't the plan. That wasn't – what he intended to do tonight. None of this was. He pulled himself together.

"I guess that's goodbye," he said slowly. Sebastian's grin diminished without disappearing completely.

"I guess it is. But look at it this way; without farewell, there’d be no reunion."

“True.“ Ruben didn't sound too enthusiastic. He tilted his chin, looking over the bulk of the hospital. “I’d rather have said reunion not take place in Beacon. I don't think they'll let you enter the compound again."

“Really?"

"Not without reporting you.“ Sebastian chuckled. He rummaged through his jacket pocket.

“Guess I won't be needing that anymore then.“

Before Ruben could ask what he meant, something was put upon his head. He lifted his arm and mapped out a hard plastic peak. It was the cap that belonged to the uniform set of Beacon's security personnel.

"Hey, what are you doing? Take it off!" Sebastian leaned back a little, looking over the heir of the Victorian fortune with visible satisfaction.

"A little souvenir," he said lightly. 

"You brought it with you?"

"Why not?"

"I look ridiculous."

"Nonsense, it looks better on you than it does on me."

“It’s not yours," Ruben said. He took off the cap and held it in Sebastian's direction. "You have to pay for it. Hell, _I_ will pay for it.“ 

“Don’t you dare. I’m not broke, Ru. Not yet, at least.“ Sebastian offered his hand. "See you then. And cheer up, okay? Smiling does wonders, or so I’ve heard.“

Ruben stared at him. He raised his own hand, the cap still held out and clenched in the other. His fingers were engulfed in a warm, firm grip in which lay more energy than in every cell of his dying body. It sent electrical impulses over his skin, or, at least, he imagined them.

“…See you." His voice fell a unison or two. "Seb."

Sebastian smiled at him, a last time, beacon in the darkness. Then he turned around and walked off. Ruben watched till the blackness between the missing street lamps devoured his outline. 

He remained like this for a while, blind and mute to the wind biting at his exposed skin. Although he recognized his heart beat against his ribcage and the steady flow of blood in his veins, he felt inexplicably empty.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Barely two hours later, Ruben returned to his house of cold, darkness and death. It might well be that the first two conditions provoked the third, but he did not plan to change neither one nor the other in the near future. Even if he had to admit the evening had shown how things wouldn‘t always unfold according to plan.

The wings of the door fell into their lock behind him, producing a ghostly echo that reverberated through the entrance hall. The loneliness weighed heavier on him than it had when he left; without the hustle and bustle of people and their infuriating chatter, the Victoriano Manor posed tongue-tied and breathless as a tomb. He would have to get used to the silence again... the eternal calm of the marble and the dust that stretched its nets across corners and walls. He had learned to live with it as a child; to a certain extent, isolation marked the golem of his existence. It was his shield and his martening curse as long as he stayed reminded it had not always been this way.

His fingertips stroked the sleek railing as he took the stairs; one step after another, faster than four years ago, slower than when he was a kid. When he got on top, he caught himself clenching his hand to a fist, eager to summon the heat with which Sebastian had enveloped it as he squeezed it goodbye. He closed his eyes, concentrating, but his imagination didn’t reach quite that far. He was trained to cause the most abhorrent fears and agony within thebrainsof his subjects, but he himself couldn’t comprehend any of their feelings – he wasn’t and had never been an empatheticbeing. 

What he needed was a connection. A direct lead to the innermost part of the human organism still capable of fear. To grieve. To love. He was unable to do any of this on his own.

His hand unclenched with a long, controlled breath. There was no point in denying it. To feel the heat, to hear this laughter, to see this grin, a medium was needed. And not just any medium.

He needed the original. He needed the guard.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When the alarm ripped Sebastian out of his dreamless sleep, all the world greeted him with was a pulsing ache in every limb and extremity he had to offer.

Even before he managed to force his eyelids open, he managed to regret making a stop at the liquor store around the corner on his way home. Considering he had just lost his job (again), the two bottles of Single Malt Whiskey hadn't been a good idea – even less one he could afford. 

Scratching his cheek and grumbling, he lifted his upper body and punched the alarm. Ugh. He had slept half the day away and forgot to be angry about it. The beeping came to an abrupt end and Sebastian sighed in relief as peace and quiet sloshed back over him. It wouldn’t stay this way, but for a moment, it was heaven.

With a blank expression, he stared at the ceiling streaked with cracks and water stains. The throbbing hangover headache found its place behind his ears just in time. It would race up his temples and reach the pace of pneumatic hammers if he didn't get up within the next ten minutes and take some pills. He risked it often, but today he could do without it. He needed a clear head to go through the job advertisements in the newspaper. And for that he first had to go downstairs and fetch said newspaper from the P.O. box. 

…Well, shit.

With a groan that expressed sheer willpower and the desire for a cup of black coffee, he carried himself off the mattress and padded into the kitchen, yawning. Pale Krimson morning light peered through the half-drawn blinds and plunged the bluish-white tiles in shadow. He pulled one of the drawers open with a bang and rummaged around till he found a pack of aspirin beneath the sparse cutlery. Turning on the tap, he bent his head and flushed two of them down his sore throat. Only then did he pour powder into the coffee machine and let the morning ritual at noon begin.

Except for the gurgling of the water heating up, the apartment itself was deadly quiet. Outside, the shallow mixture of frustrated drivers stuck in traffic and children chasing each other on the streets laughing and screeching chucked past him. He raked a hand through his hair and groaned.

He had already cracked open the first bottle while driving. He’d been damn lucky not to have caused an accident nor to have run into the arms of one of the patrolmen.

He needed to be more careful in these things, – it wasn't the first time he said that to himself, but by now, even he should know better. Instead, it got worse, the risk increased; he couldn’t say what drove him to such actions, but what he knew was that it would eventually go wrong one day, and mightily at that.

The latest prime example of that had materialized in the Gray incident yesterday. He couldn’t regret stepping in for the bandaged guy if he tried, but he should have solved the conflict without any threats of violence. Once he was accepted at the academy, he had to bring his temper under control.But how? He didn’t think much of meditation or finding his _inner center_.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee spread in the air, strong and earthy. Sebastian closed his eyes and let it envelop him like a cloud.

The bandaged – _Ruben –_ had stopped him from topping off the disaster by knocking out some of Gray’s teeth. Without him, he’d surely been stuck with a trial for assault – which was ironic since _without him_ the evening would have been quite uneventful. And he’d still have that boring job.

Sebastian took the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. Steam rose. Sebastian leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

Ruben Victoriano. A strange appearance in itself, but unlike other rich assholes refreshingly open about his misanthropic attitude towards the rest of society. _We both didn't fit into this sphere._ How true that was. Sebastian wondered if Ruben had been coerced into attending the event. Most likely; why else would he have addressed him, the lower staff of all people? He had looked for a way out and found it in his condemning eyes. And Sebastian didn’t have it in him to say no.

He pressed his lips to a line. He’d told him no reunion was possible without parting first. Ruben had taken note of this with visible reluctance. By now, Sebastian also doubted that he‘d been serious about it. After all, they sprang from two different worlds. The thought reeked of cliché yet it didn't change its truth. They probably wouldn‘t see each other ever again.

Rolling his shoulders, Sebastian pushed himself off and grabbed the cup, took a sip. The coffee ran down his throat like acid. He swallowed without complaint. 

Knock it off. A new day’s come, a new job had to be looked for. Everything else had to line up in the back for now.

Clothed in sweatpants and the same Krimson College shirt he had worn yesterday, he put the cup down and went to the door. 

As he pushed the latch down, he spotted a floral-white rectangle someone had pushed under the door slit. He frowned. Robert, his landlord, only acted as an errand boy when he delivered a reminder regarding the rent, and Sebastian had paid his two weeks ago. 

He picked it up and examined it from both sides. The letter was addressed to him, but there was nosender which only made him more suspicious. He returned to the kitchen, put the cup back to his lips and tore the envelope. A sheet of neatly folded, cream-colored paper came to light, with pompous golden ornaments adorning the edges. Sebastian weighed the paper in his hand. Quite heavy. Costly. Sebastian knew none of his acquaintances who’d have spared the money to send him such an unnecessarily expensive message by mail. If they had something to say, they informed him via text and waited for his callback. 

A prank then? Why would anyone go such lengths to make fun of his poor ass? Cocking a brow, he folded the paper apart and stroked it smooth **.** A second, smaller piece of paper fell towards him, several lines and the Krimson Bank logo emblazoned on it.

A cheque. With his eyes widening, Sebastian read the sum that had been written on it. He cursed loudly.

His attention flung to the other document, reading one sentence swung in blood-red ink.

_So you can give more people what they deserve._

Below sat a phone number listed in delicate digits. Sebastian's mouth was dry. He threw the cheque on the counter as if it had been sprayed with poison oak. The coffee began to cool.

Ten minutes later, he typed the number into his cell phone. At the second ring, someone answered, the voice outrageously calculating.

"Hello, Sebastian."

"Where the fuck did you get my address?" 

"Your former supervisor was so kind to give it to me when I asked for it," Ruben said calmly. He paused as if to sense _how_ upset Sebastian was to choose his next steps. When he started talking again, he sounded softer, almost maternal. “I’m glad my letter reached you without complications. Did you have a safe ride home?" Sebastian had none of it.

“What about the bank? How did you get access to my account? Are you a goddamn hacker?“

"Don't be ridiculous. I consulted the Director of Krimson's bank and posed as your half-brother. Then I had a temporary authorization drawn up for your account."

“And they fucking allowed that!?“ Sebastian shouted. If he‘d scared Ruben, there was no sign of it in his deadpan voice.

“My father used to brunch with him. I simply asked in a favor – backed up with the right amount of money, of course.“

“Jesus.“ Sebastian shook his head. “You rich bastards. All in cahoots with each other.“

“Please don’t think me one of them just because I resort to their connections when necessary.“

"I can't accept that cheque and you know it.“ With a grim look, Sebastian put his cup out of reach. He didn't want to wipe coffee puddles from the kitchen island.

Actually, he was too beat for this conversation, but it couldn’t be helped. He forced his migraine behind an iron wall, tugged and locked to crush him later. It had regained vigor the moment he read the sum of money, like a beast sniffing blood, yet he didn’t dare washing down more pills today. An overdose was the last thing he needed in his condition.

"Not really," Ruben said, although now a defensive twirl nested in his tone. “I’ve already initiated the payment. Take it as the loan that slipped through your fingers because of me."

"Ruben, I mean it. I hate to owe people. I – do you even know how crazy this is? I just woke up, dammit.“ 

"You don't owe me anything," It clicked in the line. Sebastian concluded Ruben had started walking back and forth with his slow, meticulous steps. “But I apologize to have startled you. If the situation really is that repulsive to you, I recommend to visit my home and see me. I only take the cheque back out of your own hands. If not, the money will be transferred to your account by the weekend. Friday would be nice. Dinner is at seven. I hope you find the property. "

Sebastian was about to counter with a snappy comment when he halted.Slowly, creepingly, the gears in his head clicked into place. His anger depleted. Shaking his head, an incredulous burst of laughter wrung out of his throat. It was too early for this shit.

"You could’ve just asked me out, you know? Like a normal guy. You didn’t have to pay the triple of my student loans first. Fuck, Ruben, I ain’t no Escort-boy.“ 

The abrupt silence on the line confirmed Sebastian he had hit the mark at first try. He swallowed thickly, repeating in mind what he’d just said. God, this was awkward.

"Hello? Hey, you’re still there?"

"I never considered buying you in any sense,“ said Ruben surprisingly unaffected. Sebastian let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “But a small... taste can't hurt. To relieve some of your worries.“

“Taste on what?" Scenes of horror rose from the trenches of Sebastian’s subconscious. “Heaven help you if you shower me in gold coins next. Or green goo made of dollar bills.“

"I don't think you’d have much use for that,“ Ruben replied dryly. "But a reliable weapon will be useful in your future profession. Father stored beautiful specimen in his hunting cabin from what I remember. It's a few hundred yards from the estate."

"We get a duty weapon,“ Sebastian said dully. He already wondered why he didn't break off the conversation, crumpled up the cheque and threw it into the bin. It was one thing to be lured into a rich boy’s mansion by using a cash infution to accomplish... _who knows what_. It was another to lay out guns as a bait; guns placed in a cabin far away from any civilization. Maybe Sebastian had seen too many thrillers in his life, but cabins with an arsenal of weapons at their disposal deep in the woods didn't exactly offer romantic prospects. In addition, he had only met this guy yesterday and he already knew his address, had consulted his bank and, in that slightly delusional mind of his, had long since arranged an evening for the two of them. At this pace, it would’ve hardly surprised him if he hadn't already discussed the dinner‘s menu with his cook. If he had a cook. The rich usually got themselves a cook because it was chic. Although if that happened to be the case, Ruben didn't give him much to do, scrawny little thing he was.

He had to give the boy that: he acted more productively within a few hours than he did in a week. Oh hell, in a whole darn _month_.

"Sure," said Ruben. His voice dripped with sarcasm. "With several traces of use, loose trigger spring and reloading delays as I know Krimson. I prefer you alive, Seb." Sebastian sagged against the counter groaning. The kid was kinda dramatic wasn’t he.

"Why should you care if I kick the bucket? You don't even know me."

(Okay, he wasn’t any better.)

"That didn't stop you yesterday either.“ A pause, soft as a moth’s flutter. "Besides, I’ve decided to change that, and I‘m not one to change my mind easily. It would be smart of you to play along." He sounded final. Comically, madly stubborn too. Despite the shock, the anger and the oddity of their interaction in total, it made Sebastian fight the paradoxal urge to smile. He blamed the hangover.

Seconds passed in which none of them spoke. Ruben's breaths reverberated in Sebastian's ear, strained calm in their anticipation. He peered at the check; these threatening, black-framed numbers. A debt he’d never be able to repay if Ruben changed his mind. The bandaged man-to-be. It was crazy, an obvious trap. Besides, only an idiot wouldhave agreed to visit a stranger virtually living at the end of the world **,** every child was warned about that.

However, Sebastian had long ceased to be a child, and very few thought him to be particularly clever. From what he knew, children didn't have to pay bills either. They shouldn‘t.

He took the cheque and turned it around.

"Maybe that guy was right after all. You're dangerous," he said. Ruben didn’t answer. His breathing hitched for a moment, but that could have been pure imagination on Sebastian‘s side. He pondered. Then, he pulled himself together. "Okay. Shit, okay, what time?“

"Friday evening. I'm eager to hear about your progress." A quick hesitation. “Please put on a shirt that fits your measurements.“ Sebastian laughed.

"Shouldn't I pop some buttons open? As a taste for what’s to come?“ he joked.

"Not necessary. I've seen enough to stay interested for now.“

Before Sebastian could answer, the dial tone echoed. Ruben had hung up. He stared at his cell phone in disbelief. Did he just...

Sebastian felt his ears grow hot. This motherfucker.

"Shit," he said into his empty apartment. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling. Only now he realized his whole body was tense with adrenalin.“Just what have you gotten yourself into, Castellanos?"

He didn't have the faintest idea, but he had no doubt he’d find out by Friday at the latest.

Maybe he should bring flowers. A hunch, along with the headache slithering back in and pounding behind his eyes like a pendulum, told him Ruben liked the poisonous ones best.


End file.
